Through the Years
by Unexplainable Contradiction
Summary: For people who read my story, Apples. Sally Jackson, mother of crazed Percy Jackson. What's her perspective of her son, always leaving, moving, falling into an imaginary pit of devastation? What goes through her mind when she finds out that her son will never be the same? Rated T, because it isn't exactly the happiest thing around.
1. Come with Change, Leave the Same

**Okay, this thought came to me randomly, like, at eleven one night a long time ago. It's almost like Sally's point of view of ****_Apples_****. Oh, and I feel stupid for calling it a sequel, when it can better be called a companion fic; this just goes into a deeper understanding, I guess. And it might've been I was super tired when I wrote the A/N for the last chapter of ****_Apples_****. **

**Read and Review!**

**I DO NOT OWN. **

Come with Change, Leave the Same

**_Sally Jackson's POV_**

Sally Jackson was sitting in her living room on her favorite rocking chair, completely broken and stressed for her seven year-old son's safety, but still having hope; he had left a note saying he would return, maybe even for Christmas, and today was Christmas.

But it was noon, and he had yet to return. She stared out the window, at the blizzard that had been plaguing the area for days, and her heart lost another piece. There was no way he could travel through _that_. He'd be frozen to death.

But, he did always love snow. He loved to play in it, throw it in the air and melt it between his fingers, lay in it and create from it. And watching it, completely still and clean and clear, nothing having ruined the image. He could stare it for hours, admiring its unaffected beauty. Nothing could keep him from that.

Sally glanced out the window one last time before she bundled herself up and stepped out her room. She took the stairs one at a time, for she was anxious to see if her son was outside, but also nervous for the heartbreak she might get if he wasn't, which was more likely. Slowly, carefully, she entered the lobby, remembering to give the manager a death glare for letting her son leave. Sally stared out the clear entrance doors. The snow was pounding them, splattering all over.

No sane being would be out there. It was suicidal.

She sighed and walked up to the doors, placing her hand on them, feeling the chill from the snow. "Where are you?" she murmured, taking her freezing hand off the glass. Then, Sally saw something, or rather, someone, outside through the small hole she made from erasing the fog. Her eyes widened, and not thinking, she pushed open the door and rushed outside.

There squatting on the sidewalk was a small boy, wearing only a thin gray zip-up jacket that he didn't bother to close, a gray knit beanie, sunglasses, jeans with holes in them, and tennis shoes. He wore no gloves or boots or heavy winter jacket. He acted as if he were immune to the freezing temperatures, with his casual warm weather clothes.

Sally knew on sight who he was, no matter the time she hadn't seen him.

She bent down and scooped her son into a death-like squeeze she called a hug. "Percy," she cried. "Percy, Percy, Percy."

"Hey Mom, long time no see." He winced slightly at his words. Sally didn't know why, nor did she truly care at the moment. Her son came back, and that's all that mattered.

She kissed his forehead and pulled him up from the snow-covered ground. Percy had a handful of snow clumped together in his hand as he stood, his hand turning red from the cold. She laughed quietly at his actions. "Percy, honey, put that down before you freeze your hand off."

The ends of Percy's lips curved downward, barely noticeable to anyone but a mother. "But I want to see the snow," he complained.

Sally did not understand this, like how she did not understand why he was wearing sunglasses in the middle of winter. "Sweetheart, what do you mean?"

Percy released the snow onto the ground and turned to her. "Mom, describe the snow." She was confused, and it must have been written all over her face. "Tell me what you see, what it's like," Percy continued. "What do _you_ see?"

"Ummm… okay. Whatever you say, Percy." She stared out at the snow, and found she could not find a way to describe it. It was too… white. Snow was falling everywhere and it made seeing difficult. "Well, honey," she started anyway. "It's white. Snow is falling all over the place, on the cars, the street, the buildings. It's sorta hard to tell what there is."

Now Percy's lips turned completely downward. "You want to be an author, right? Describe it like you would in a book."

Sally stared at her son, utterly bewildered because he was standing out in the cold, seemingly unaffected, and was insisting that she describe what she saw, not even moving to go inside to the warmth.

"Percy…" She saw his face and trailed off, not knowing what was going on. Maybe he was getting hyperthermia? "Let's just go inside, and I'll describe it to you there."

Percy gave one last look at the snow before being led inside by Sally. "Okay, we'll do that. But you still have to tell me. Promise."

They were inside now, inside the safety of the lobby, and she had whirled at the persistence of her son wanting her to describe _snow_, something he had seen billions of times. She bit the inside of her cheek. "Okay. I'll make sure to do that."

He nodded and walked off to the stairs, obviously not wanting to use the elevator. Sally followed him, after doing her usual glare at the manager, who had not looked up from the computer screen, taking two steps at a time. By the time she got to the top of the stairs, she was panting, but she couldn't stop because her son was already gliding through the hall, dragging his fingers against the wall, not even a single heavy breath escaping his lips. She picked up her pace and stopped behind him when he opened the door to their apartment.

"How—" she froze when Percy sheepishly held out her room key.

"I knew you'd be behind me, and I wanted to get here as fast as I could. I took them from your pocket when we hugged." He placed it in her hand. "Sorry for not asking. Force of habit." He peeked inside. "Gabe isn't here, is he?"

Sally ushered her son inside. "No, no, he went to go spend Christmas with his niece." She tugged off her heavy winter coat and shook the snow from herself, watching Percy make his way to the couch, dragging his fingers against its surface.

When did he start doing that?

She ignored the question and went to go sit with her son on the couch. Taking his frozen hands in hers, she started bombarding him with questions—mainly, why. "Why did you leave, Percy?" she asked.

Percy shrugged insignificantly, adjusting his beanie and sunglasses. "I needed to."

"No, you didn't," she argued.

He pursed his lips. "Yeah, I kinda did. It was all so… so, _sad_, to put in simple terms. It wasn't helping my condition—_at all_—and… leaving, exploring… it gave me time to think, figure things out, get ahold of myself."

"Then why didn't you come to me?" She gently shook her son's warming hands.

He cocked his head to the side. "You were busy, mourning, over _her_ and me."

Now, she was confused. "What—what do you mean?"

"You think _she_'s gone, deceased, dead. Me, I was lost in my own world, doomed to be sent away." He shrugged. "It's simple." He stood up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing an apple without ever turning his head from her. "We were both lost to you. Not within reach."

Sally couldn't help but notice her son's way of viewing things, how he was so ingenious. Even she hadn't realized that, and he, a seven year-old child, had. All she could do was nod her head in understanding, though she doubted she fully understood what he was saying.

Percy tossed the apple in the air before catching it. "Mail's here." He went toward the door. "Don't worry. I'll get it."

She hadn't even begun to comprehend what he had said when a loud knock came from the door. Percy swung the door open for the manager, bored looking and holding a small rectangular box, plain and brown. "Delivery for Sally Jackson," he said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Merry Christmas."

Sally, without her knowing, had made her way up front, now holding the door. "I didn't think they made deliveries on Christmas."

The manager stared at her. "They don't," he said simply. "I got this weeks ago, and had to wait till today to deliver it."

"Oh, okay." She handed him a tip. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

Before he walked out the door, he noticed Percy for the first time. "Hey, you're back."

"Glad you noticed," Percy sneered. "Merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Good bye."

"Weren't you missing?"

"Nooo… I've just been locked up in my room, hidin' from the authorities, not goin' to school, not eatin' or drinkin' an ounce, like a pers'n frozen in time. Just livin' the dream, I tell ya. Livin' the dream." Practically becoming sarcasm, Percy started fingering a chain around his belt line that Sally had not seen.

"Hey, hey, hey, no need for the attitude, buddy. I was just asking a question." The manager held up his arms in surrender, like we just lost a war of witty remarks, which he had.

Percy turned his head to the side, muttering to himself, though Sally could hear. "Like how you're 'bout to ask me for a little 'guy secret' tip."

What?

Before she could ask what he meant, the manger got down on his haunches and lightly punched Percy in the chest. "What about a little Christmas tip from you, huh? A little dollar or two?"

She was about to go on an all-out rampage on him, but Percy blocked her from passing through the door with his right arm, using his left to dig out some money. "Percy," she started. "You don't have to give him any money. Just come inside."

"No, no, it's okay, Mom. I got lots of money." He nodded toward the manager. "Gimme a minute, will ya?" Percy dug out a brown leather wallet from a pocket on the inside of his jacket. "Okay, here it is. One wallet stashed with money comin' up." He tossed it to the manager, who caught it with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Hmmm…" The manager opened the wallet and pulled out two credit cards and a debit card along with his cash; his eyes widened. "_What is_ _this_?"

"Oh." Percy's eyebrows rose, and he dug into his pocket once again, only this time, he pulled out another brown leather wallet. "I must have given you the wrong wallet instead of yours, which I… borrowed when you were in the lobby. Silly me."

"Whose wallet is this then?" He held it away from his face like it was a lit case of TNT.

"Oh. Nobody's, really. I just nabbed it from some police officer in Florida. Used it a bit, too. You wouldn't believe how much money is on those things. Unlimited, I think." Percy pulled a camera from behind his back and snapped a picture of the manager holding the wallet in one hand and the cards in the other. "I bought so much stuff," he continued, "lots and lots of stuff. And you wanna know some'in'?" Percy pulled down the camera and waved it with a smug grin. "I now have proof that you held stolen property." He pointed out the door. "So beat it, before I turn you in."

The manger dropped the wallet and sprinted away like his life depended on it. Percy chuckled and closed the door. He lazily walked to the couch and fell on top of it, waving around the two wallets slowly in the air.

Sally was horrified. Had her son just _blackmailed_ someone? And did he really _steal_?

Percy sat up. "I know what 'cha thinkin', and it ain't like that." He slid off the couch and started for her. "I wasn't gonna turn 'im in, 'cause that'd get me arrested instead of him. And the stealing part? I never used the cards, never even touched them, and I returned most of the money. I only kept, like, five bucks for food. It wasn't even from Florida."

"Oh, okay." It was not really _okay_ for Sally, but she knew he only did it so he could survive. "What about the accent?" It hadn't slid by Sally the strange way her son was speaking, ignoring the G's at the end of words, saying 'im instead of 'him', and using the word 'ain't.'

"Oh, sorry." A faint pink color tinged her son's cheeks. "People sorta expected it of me back in Alabama, you know, so I'd fit in. New York doesn't exactly fit in there, especially in the _deep_ south part Alabama I was in." He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

_Alabama? That _is where her son has been?

She shook her head, knowing she would never thoroughly understand—ever—and simply went and grabbed a tray of cookies and brought them back to the couch for her and her son.

"COOKIES!" Percy snatched up a cookie and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth.

After that, they began talking and joking around, like before. They talked about school, and which one he was going to go to, since he was going to stay; they talked about better times, and joked about Percy's silly mistakes and the ones he was bound to make. Percy even got to open some Christmas presents that she had stashed underneath the tree, just in case. Everything was perfect—for that moment, and all the while, Percy was stuffing blue cookie after blue cookie into his mouth.

Sally had to admit, she was pretty happy that Percy wanted cookies; he hadn't wanted to eat anything before he… left. A truck load of pain suddenly overcame her, and it was all she could do not to burst out in tears. He was so… different. In less than a year, her baby boy had completely and utterly changed. Nothing was the same, not even his looks—the sunglasses, chain, and ripped jeans was nothing like what he used to wear. And how he held himself… Percy had always had this deep understanding of the world that Sally did not get, like he had seen it all already, but it never affected him; he was still happy, a happy little innocent boy. But now—he had this aura of sadness and secretiveness, like he had faced something only terrible things could bring, like he was thousands upon thousands of years old.

Percy scrunched up his eyebrows and scooted closer to her, wiping off cookie crumbs. "What's wrong, Mom?"

She sniffled. She just wanted something to be the _same_. One little thing would be enough. Sally stared at her son, taking in every little detail, and found herself looking more and more at those _stupid sunglasses_, blocking her from seeing his sea-green eyes. Those eyes had to be the same, right? They had to be.

Her son clutched her hands. "Is there anything I can do?" Without thinking, he began to nibble on a blue cookie.

Sally again stared at those blasted sunglasses, and the words tumbled out: "Let me see your eyes. Please."

He jerked back. "What?" His voice reached an octave higher and he began shaking his head back and forth.

"Please," she begged. "I want to see something—"

"—the same. Yeah, I guessed that was it." Percy sighed and sat back, scrubbing his face roughly with his hands.

Sally leaned forward. "Please." She reached out and tapped the top of the sunglasses.

Again, Percy jerked back. "Mom, they're not… exactly… the same. I... don't think you'll… like it."

"Nonsense." She rudely grabbed the sunglasses, holding them back so her son couldn't reach them. "See."

"No, no, I _don't_ see." He waved his hands in the air, his beautiful sea-green eyes darting this way and that.

"Percy." Sally was growing exasperated. "Please, look me in the eyes." She was desperate, and Percy had asked if there was anything he could do. Looking her in the eyes wasn't difficult at all, was it?

"No Mom." His voice shook. "I can't." He pulled her hands away from underneath his chin, and expertly reached behind her and took back his sunglasses. "I'm sorry, but that's one thing I can't do." He did not put the sunglasses on, but placed them in his lap. "Choose something else."

Sally felt a temper she never knew she had flare, but kept her cool. "What do you mean? All I want is for you to look me in the eyes."

"That's the thing, Mom." He turned to face her, and she swore, even with what he said, that he _looked her in the eyes_. "I'm _blind_, Mom. I can't _see_."

That is when the world came crashing down on Sally Jackson, because, even though her son came, he came with change.

**0o0o0o0o0o**

Sally was sitting in her favorite rocking chair again, rocking back and forth, back and forth. She had work off today and Gabe was sleeping, leaving her with time to think.

Percy had just gotten expelled from school—for skipping it, to boot. She knew he had skipped school before. He had come home for a day the one time she knew, coming from miles away—_by foot_. He had not taken a taxi or subway, saying he needed the exercise.

"And the freedom," he had mumbled to himself, kicking a beer can to the side.

She hadn't known what to say, still didn't. Her son was a mover—he moved all around, looking for… something… She did not know what, but he couldn't stay in one place for long. At first she had been worried about his… father's side of him, but he was still hidden from that; he still thought they were myths.

Now Sally was holding the signed sheet of paper that said her son would not be invited to his school next year for, one: skipping school, two: getting into fights when he _was_ there, and three: giving attitude to his teachers, when he _was_ there.

She had guessed that he would get into a few fights, maybe even give some attitude, but the _skipping_ _school_ part was what worried her. Where could he possibly go? She only knew of _one_ time that he had skipped school, when he had snuck in at the dead of night through a window. She didn't know _how_ he had, because he was _blind_—though it was hard to believe, with how independent he was; she still had to remind herself sometimes, like when he would ask her to read a sign or ask if there was anything on the floor he could trip on.

But that night he had seemed perfectly capable of seeing… Sally couldn't help but remember it.

XxXx

_Sally was up for a cup of late-night tea. Her stomach was churning, her mother instincts kicking in. The day before, she had received a call from Percy's school's counselor, who had been slightly worried for her son, as well as agitated with him. She didn't know why, because Percy could take care of himself, and he was smart, though his grades were always so low. It didn't make sense, with the way he spoke, his vocabulary, and how he caught onto things so easily, his ability to "see" what others couldn't. _

_He had also seemed to mellow a bit, like he understood people didn't know this, that he was above average in some categories, even with his dyslexia, ADHD, and the fact that he was completely blind. He did not seem like he would start too many fights when he left, and she had managed to get him to lower down on his "tough guy that must survive" attitude. She did not know what could possibly be wrong._

_But that changed with that phone call that had happened the night before, about how he kept so much to himself that it worried people, how he was bitter to people. _

_It was late at night, and even though that phone call was still rattling throughout her head, she needed to get to bed. Something was wrong at school; she knew that for a fact. The main indicator was when she got Percy's report card—nothing higher than a C-. He was smarter than that, she knew._

_She rubbed at her temples and was getting ready to head to bed when she heard a small, almost nonexistent creak. Immediately, she froze, her hand inching for a weapon, or _anything_ at all. Sally had raised Percy with monsters on their trail and had faced them before; she wasn't going to let one invade her house—_ever_._

_She snuck her way to the source of the noise, gliding carefully and silently. The noise was coming from the window, and someone seemed to be breaking in. _How could someone climb all the way up to her room? _She shook her head and scooted even closer to the window, edging her way like there was an invisible force holding her back. Whoever that was looked familiar. Too familiar. _

_"Oof." The person, a young boy with sunglasses propped up onto his nose, fell into the room. He quickly scrambled up and held his head. "Ow," he had whined. "That hurt."_

_Sally had shot forward and grabbed the young boy, holding him close. "Percy," she murmured. "What are you doing here?" She held him back so she could see his face—well, what part of his face was visible._

_Percy huffed and crossed his arms. "I don't like school and came back. That's what I did."_

_"Percy, you can't just do that. School is good," Sally scolded softly; her heart was not really in it._

_He shrugged. "Can I still stay here?" he asked, a hopeful spark in his tone. "Please?"_

_She winced at his question. "Honey, I wish you could. I really do, but you have to go to school." He immediately soured. He wrinkled one side of his nose, but besides that, there really was no other source to show his bitterness—just that the air around him seemed to radiate it. "Okay," Sally continued. "You can stay for the night"—Percy smiled at that—"but I'm taking you right back in the morning." His smile wavered, but never disappeared. _

_"Fine." He waved to the ground. "But you still gotta tell me if there's anythin' around on the ground. I don't wanna trip."_

_Sally smiled slightly and took his hand, bringing him to the couch. There, they slept soundly and peacefully, and in the morning Sally had taken him back to school._

_All the while, she had been wondering how her son had even managed to get home._

XxXx

Sally got a call from the school a week later. They were saying that Percy was skipping school again, so the principle and counselor had gone to his room to have a talk with him.

But he wasn't there. There was only a small sheet of paper, yellow-brown and crinkled, with words scribbled on them.

_I'll be fine._

_Don't worry about me._

The school was also missing some supplies, like food and water bottles. Sally had hung up after they had said that, saying that she had something important to do. She walked to her favorite rocking chair. She didn't want to see it, but she knew she would.

And she did—there, on the rocking chair, was a small note and a single blue rose. She carefully held the seemingly old, withering paper.

_Sorry I left, but I just did not like it at the school._

_I knew you would want to know I'm safe, and I am._

_I left a blue rose for you, too. _

_See?_

_And don't worry about me._

_I'll be fine, careful._

_I can take care of myself._

_I love you, and I'll be home in time for Christmas, as always._

_Maybe I'll even come for my birthday._

_Your son,_

_Percy Jackson_

Sally was crying by the time she finished the short message, holding the blue rose tightly to her chest. When she finally gave her last sniffle, she examined the single, delicate rose. On it was another small piece of paper, but this one was for when people write who they are sending the flower to. She held the paper close, and squinting, noticed faint, almost invisible words.

_I came different, and yet I leave the same._

_Funny how that works, huh?_

She sat down heavily on her rocking chair, which squeaked under her weight.

Her son was different, barely even her son anymore.

But he was, and he always would be.

She cried again, not only because her only son left, but because it finally hit her, that nothing would be the same, that he was changed.

What happened?

**These posts will happen whenever I can manage, so there will probably be big gaps in between them. **

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**Peace and all that other stuff.**

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX**


	2. Not as Insane, Maybe

**I'm ba-ack! Sorry—so sorry—for taking so long. I just couldn't get myself to open this and write. **

**I DO NOT OWN.**

Not as Insane, Maybe

**_Sally Jackson's POV_**

Sally Jackson was sitting in her favorite rocking chair again, waiting, hoping, even praying for her son's return. It was his eighth birthday, and she was desperate for him to return, because she hadn't seen him since he left back in the beginning of April, when he got expelled. Her hands fidgeted with the small, wrapped box in her hands as she rocked and rocked and rocked.

Where was he?

Then, after many hours of waiting since the strike of midnight, she remembered that her son had said that he only _may be_ home for his birthday. It hurt, to think that he wouldn't return—maybe ever again.

Sally mentally slapped herself and stood up to grab the ringing phone. She grumbled to herself, "This better be quick if it isn't Percy." Because maybe it was Percy; she had no idea.

She snatched it up at the last ring, saying, "This is the Jackson residence. How may I help you?" She silently cursed herself for sounding so annoyingly happy even though she was anything but.

"Hello, Ms. Jackson. This is Mr. Pattery from—well, I'll just get to the point. I'm here with your son at an insane asylum." There was rattling at the other end and some very colorful words that sounded like they came from a very young child.

Sally was quiet for a while, and then she asked a question that her own son would scold her for: "What?" Yep, she could already imagine him—"Mom, there's only one real reason to ask that, and that's when you actually didn't understand what someone said, not when you just don't like it."

"I said," Mr. Pattery began, "that your son is here with me at an insane asylum. Now, I would like you to come here and sign him in so it's legal or bring him home." He punctuated every word, as if she were an idiot—which wasn't far from true, considering the fact she was acting like a stupefied buffoon.

"O—okay. Yes, I'll—I'll be there. As soon as I can." She was about to hang up when Mr. Pattery interrupted her, telling her the directions that she very much needed.

Then she was off, driving to an insane asylum, the same one her son had been brought to without her consent just under a year ago.

Sally knew this wasn't going to end well.

XxXx

Sally pulled up into the parking lot of the asylum. Rushing out of Gabe's Camaro—because she didn't have the time to wait for a taxi—she barged through the front doors of the *Willard Asylum for the Insane. "Where's my son?" she demanded, slamming her hand on the front counter.

"Excuse me?" the lady asked, flicking her manicured nails in her hair.

"Where. Is. My. Son?"

"Can I have a name?" The woman—her name tag said Molly—began twirling her short brown hair as she smacked her gum.

"Perseus. Perseus Jackson," Sally told Molly.

Molly's eyes widened. "Oh, the new comer. Yes… Hmmm… Just down the hall to the left." Sally started turning so she could leave when Molly spoke up again: "Oh, and, bring a guard or something. I heard that the kid's dangerous." Molly slapped a VISITOR sticker on Sally's hand, and she was off.

Sally sped down the hall, taking a sharp left, and in front of her was a single door, blocked by five burly guards. "I'm here to see Perseus Jackson, my son," she said, trying to slip past the men. When they wouldn't move, she stepped back and demanded, "Let me see my son." Her foot began tapping in the way only impatient mother's knew how to. Slipping an arm through their wall, she tried to shove them away. "_Move_."

A man stuck is arm out to block her. "You say you're Perseus Jackson's mother, correct?" His voice wasn't cold per say, but it was emotionless, minus that small curious tone at the last word.

She sighed loudly through her nose. "Yes." She crossed her arms with a huff. "He is my son."

The man scanned her over once, and then he opened the door a crack, waving Sally along. "Be careful, Ms. Jackson. Your _son_ is very dangerous."

That time she heard all the mystery of her son she ever needed for a lifetime.

And all the warning about him.

Sally stepped into the white, plush, cubical of a room warily.

Her eyes widened comically at the sight before her. Perseus Jackson was lying on a small, white bed, his feet dangling over one end as his head hovered just barely over the ground. His sunglasses were slipping up over his eyes, his chain clanged as it hit the floor, and his beanie had slid up, revealing his jet black hair.

That, however, wasn't the strange part.

The strange part was that he was talking—

—to no one.

Percy was talking and talking, as if someone were right next to him, but no one was. At first Sally thought—hoped—it was because he was blind and someone had crept away without telling him, but that dream was shot down by the look the man sent her. The look that showed sympathy and worry and dread all wrapped up in one. She knew that look; Sally had gotten it all the time right after _she_ died: It was the look that screamed that there was an insane person in the room.

The insane person was a child. His name was Perseus Jackson.

Of course, Sally had never listened to those looks. Percy was just depressed. Scarred. But not insane.

Now she was listening though.

The man spoke: "He won't speak to us until he finishes his conversation. He's probably talking to Penny. He, uh, argues with her. A lot."

"Oh." She gulped. How much is _a lot_?

He continued, "Actually, I don't really think he's that dangerous unless you get on his bad side. He's—he's a good boy. Just slightly insane. Now that I think about it, he isn't even checked in. Mr. Pattery saw him on the streets and took him in, gave him a place to stay. No one even acknowledged your son talking to air crazy until he started shouting a bit. I guess it was a good thing though"—Sally shot him a sharp glance—"because it was only then that we got your number. It's definitely not good that we know he is insane," the bulky man amended.

Percy fell off the bed. "Hey, Mr. Goodwin!" he shouted happily, sauntering over. He began talking animatedly with Mr. Goodwin about his latest argument with Penny; apparently, she wanted to throw pies at the guard.

She sighed and plopped down on the floor, figuring she might as well learn as much about her son as she could. Sally Jackson didn't even know her son knew she was in the room until he suddenly turned to her and said, "Mr. Goodwin is the nicest guy here, Mom. He's the only one who really doesn't treat me like a freak, unless the other guys are around. But that's only because he doesn't want to lose his job."

Percy grinned slightly, slowly calming down. Sally's jaw dropped. "Mom? _Hel-lo-o_? Mom, are you okay?" She saw him shift and bend down to her, as if he wanted a better look. The tough façade she usually saw Percy wear was forming on his angular face. "Mom, speak," he ordered quietly, and it was like a stick was poked in her back, forcing her up.

"Percy!" she cried, pulling him into an enormous hug. "Oh my Percy! Where have you been? I was so worried!" Sally pushed him back. "_Never_ scare me like that again, okay? Never."

"Yes, ma'am," Percy chuckled, the softest of smiles gracing his lips.

"Let's go home."

XxXx

For the next week, Sally fell into a pattern. Wake up. Cook. Go to work. Come home. Look for a school for Percy. The news, strangely, had surprised her greatly. Percy wanted to go to school. Well, he didn't _want_ to go to school, but he would for her.

And that meant he would stay home. Or at least in a spot where she knew where he was.

"Okay, Percy," she called to him, "do you want to help pick out the school or am I going to by myself?"

Her son suddenly materialized beside her. "I'm going to help. I want to know what I'm getting myself into."

She jumped slightly, eyeing the smirk that stretched across his face; Percy knew she didn't like it when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere—giving her a fright—but he always replied with a shrug, saying, "I can't help it, Mom. I learned how to keep quiet a long time ago, and I plan on keeping quiet."

Now, Sally knew her son wasn't the most graceful of people, so she always had to wonder exactly what he meant.

She smiled tightly, glancing at the little stick propped against the wall that she bought for Percy. No matter how many times he stumbled and knocked into things, it seemed he was bent on _not_ having any help. "And what do you think you are getting yourself into?" she asked her son, who was carefully yet confidently making his way to their small kitchen table.

He turned to her, light bouncing off his sunglasses like how it used to bounce off his eyes. "A new place where imbeciles roam freely." He shrugged, his lips neither formed in a frown nor smile; he was simply blank-faced.

The way he hid his emotions so well scared Sally, but she asked anyway: "What does that mean?"

Percy cocked his head to the side, flicking through his list of answers mentally. He sighed. "People are cruel, Mom, you know that." She thought she saw him motioning slightly to the living room, where Gabriel was playing poker, but he couldn't have. Right? Percy was still just a child. "Students and teachers alike will look down on me because I'm different, because I have _disabilities_." He practically spat out the last word, and the bitter expression he wore worried Sally, but just as sudden as it had come, it disappeared, leaving a blank slate. "But that's okay. I'll be fine." He paused, swaying on his feet, like he was dizzy. "Besides, it's not like I'll be at this school for long. They'll think I'm crazy in no time."

Sally was silent, and they let the subject be, not speaking of it again. Instead, they went through the schools together, like every other day, and attempted to act somewhat like they would have in the past. Well, Sally did. Percy would smile his lop-sided smile at just the right moments, and Sally would stare at him openly, sensing that his goofy smile never quite reached his eyes. That he wasn't actually smiling inside.

She wanted him to smile. Even if only because he was talking to imaginary people.

XxXx

The next week, Percy was getting ready to head to his new school. Even though school had started a few days prior, it had taken much persuasion and Percy promising not to cause too much trouble for the school to allow him. But he was, and now, as Sally watched him drag his backpack—being too lazy to put it over his shoulder—to the front door, she noticed something was a bit… off.

Percy's head was turned to the side as he walked, mouth moving, speaking nearly silent words. He seemed as if he was glaring at someone, but no one was there.

"Um, Percy, honey," Sally said meekly, realizing that she had seen this look, seen him speak to air, before, just never acknowledged what was going on.

Percy's head snapped up. "Yes?"

"It's, um, time—time to go," she stuttered, motioning to the door uselessly, since he was blind.

"Okay," he chirped—_chirped_. Percy Jackson chirping—_happily_? Sally may have been the type of person to try to find the best in everyone, but her son wasn't exactly the peppiest of people; more quiet and dark, until he gets angry—then there's a fight. Sally pondered what could have possibly made him so—so happy, like he used to be, when Percy whirled around to face her before he stepped through the front door.

"We should take Gabe's car," he stated confidently, like he had been thinking about this for a long time. "There won't be any taxis for us to catch, and he's still sleepin'. Well, he's sleeping now, but he'll be up in about—" he pursed his lips—"a minute and a half. We shouldn't waste that time, though: he'll be angry for sure, since you forgot to put the casserole in the oven this morning."

With that, her son began down the hallway, trailing his fingers against the wall, counting the doors he passed and the steps he took.

It was all too much. Her son was _too much_. Sally loved him—oh, she loved him _so much_—but he was _too much_. With him, there was always a small sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She didn't know if it was because there could be a monster attack at any given moment… or because Percy was simply… different. Changed. She missed the old days—the days where there were always smiles and laughs, the days where there was no mystery, no dreadful secrets.

The days where there was no fear—_fear of her son_—and what he was capable of.

Because she knew that he could do much, much more than he let on.

Because she knew in that head of his there was a world-full of knowledge from experiences that no one should have to face.

Because she knew there was a heart full of hate—hate at the people who labeled him insane, a murderer. Hate at the people who said_ she_ was deceased, gone, _dead_.

Because she knew her son had all the reasons to be a hero.

Or a villain.

And that was what scared her the most, really. Her son, Perseus Jackson, could do whatever he wanted, whatever his heart said was right, and his heart had all the reason to hate the world, to want to destroy it.

But instead of becoming purely evil, instead of becoming purely good, her son turned cold, frozen; Percy became unable to choose.

She remembered the words in her dream:

_Olympus to raze or save_

Perseus Jackson, her son, had all the reasons to want to destroy the gods one day, to rip Olympus apart brick by brick.

Yeah, that's definitely what scared her the most.

"Mom?" Sally heard a call from down the hall by the stairs, and it snapped her out of her musings.

"Coming!" she called right back, and then she shuffled out right as she heard Gabe awaken.

She really didn't want to be in Gabe's presence when he found out that she forgot to bake the casserole.

Because Percy was right.

He seemed to always be right these days.

XxXx

Sally was waiting in her favorite rocking chair for her son, rocking back and forth, back and forth, and she couldn't help but remember the first time she had waited for his return—how she was so frightened and anxious, how her hope had faded with every second that ticked away at the clock. How her heart was screaming for his little note to be true, that her son would return, but her mind was screaming that it was highly unlikely, if not impossible.

How everything had changed so utterly and completely.

Ignoring the pang in her chest, Sally went to check if her son was home by peeking through the front door. No sign of him. She sighed heavily and listened to Gabriel's moaning as he packed to go spend Christmas with his niece, as he did every year. It was the only break she ever got from him, and she never argued that he should stay—Gabe and Percy butted heads, and, with Percy's obvious attitude, things would turn ugly.

Sally leaned against the front door, banging her head gently, listening to the _thump_,_ thump_,_ thump_ as it made contact with the wood.

Gabe came lumbering in to the room, gazing longingly at the kitchen and table set up in front of the TV. Grumbling, he shoved Sally away from the door and left without a good-bye.

Not that she cared.

The clock continued to tick, counting off the seconds Percy wasn't home. _Tick_,_ tick_,_ tick_. He should be home by now, she thought as she once again rocked in her favorite rocking chair. That was when she noticed the wind blowing wildly outside—and the large, puffy white flakes that floated to the ground.

Perseus Jackson was going to get hypothermia if he didn't come inside, but, of course, Sally knew he would not.

Just like last time.

Déjà vu overcoming her, Sally Jackson made her way toward the stairs, first taking them slow and one at a time, then flying down, not able to stand the anxiousness that filled her. "Percy!" she called breathless. "Percy!" She pushed open the lobby door, and, sure enough, there was her son, squatting down on the sidewalk, tracing his index finger through the snow.

He was wearing nearly the same attire as the last time she caught him outside: faded blue jeans, these with large rips as well; ratty tennis shoes; a green shirt; a thin, zip-up gray jacket he refused to zip; and his gray knit beanie. This time, though, she also saw the shiny metal chain he wore for reasons unknown to her and the sunglasses.

She hated those sunglasses. And she hated even more whatever caused her son to go blind.

But he wouldn't tell her, so she just learned to live with it.

"Percy, come here." Sally bent down and hugged her son, feeling his cold skin against hers and wondering how in the world he didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable.

"Hey, Mom," Percy mumbled, turning around and giving her a hug as well. He snickered. "You didn't really let me go to you."

"Oh, hush," she scolded lightly, but a smile was stretched widely across her face. Standing up, Sally pulled Percy to his feet. "We should go inside. I don't want you getting hypothermia, now. Not when it's almost Christmas."

Percy nodded mutely, glancing—or, what she considered glancing, since he was blind—longingly at the snow one last time before he was tugged inside.

Once inside the warm lobby, Percy immediately went to the counter where the manager was. "Hey, buddy," he drawled, pulling himself up so he could sit atop the granite. "Did ya get my pack'ge?"

The man immediately looked up—probably because Percy had blackmailed him only a little under a year before. "Hey, kiddo"—he gulped—"the pack—package? Yeah, I got it right here." The man—Mister Bullard—shook his head, as if scolding himself for his stuttering. Pulling out an awfully wrapped in brown paper box, Mr. Bullard shoved it in Percy's awaiting hands.

"Thank you very much, kind sir," Percy said sweetly, flicking a green… coin the man's way.

Furrowing his eyebrows in suspicion, Mr. Bullard took the coin and pulled at a little corner of the paper that surrounded it. _Pop!_ A twenty dollar bill landed on his desk, and he stared at it in awe.

"Later." Percy waved and plopped back down on the ground, holding the box like it was treasure. "C'mon, Mom."

And then they were heading up the stairs, Sally trying—but epically failing—to keep up with her son. Percy was up first, as per usual, and was walking in. Sally frowned slightly and checked for her key; she still had it, so… She would ask him later.

There was nothing that could possibly ruin this Christmas.

XxXx

Sally stretched tiredly. Christmas morning, she thought, as she flipped a blue pancake. Usually her son would be up by now, but last night, he was busy… talking—arguing? Speaking roughly with?—one—or many?—of his _friends_. Sally didn't really like the thought of her son speaking to people who aren't really there—who aren't _real_—but she had called the asylum that Percy had stayed in, told them his situation, and they had guessed he only talked to them because he could see them.

"Percy can't see anybody, so he subconsciously made a set of friends that he could see," Mr. Pattery had said.

Sally Jackson had to agree, but she thought it was a bit more than that. From what she had pried out of Percy, his "_shadow friends_" as he had called them, seemed a lot like _her_, who seemed to have many personalities. There was one who was crazy and loud and loved getting in trouble; another who was quiet and could gather information; a tween who was nice until enemies (or _enemy_; Sally was not quite sure) came along; and then one who loved to prove that she _could_—could do anything.

_She_ had had a bit of all of those in _her_, so of course Percy had made many friends to fit all of _her_ personalities.

Sally sighed as she wiped tears from her eyes. She had to move on, for Percy. She had to stop thinking _she_ would ever be found—because, if she did, Percy might, too.

Sally was so deep in thought, she did not hear the crash of Percy falling out of bed. "Mom!" her son yelled, pulling on her hand. "It's _Christmas_! It's time to open the presents!"

At least that didn't change. And, hopefully, it never would.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Sally chuckled, wiping her hands clean.

They ended up sitting in front of the Christmas tree, both siting crisscross-apple-sauce, with their few gifts sitting in front of them. There were not as many gifts as Sally had hoped there would be, but Gabe—ugh, _Gabe_—didn'tagree in spending too much money for the holidays; besides, it wasn't like there was that much money to spend in the first place. So, Sally had to settle on the cheap, personal items that she had gathered from around the house. "You go first," she told Percy, pushing toward him three carefully wrapped gifts—two flat and one tall cylinder.

Percy nodded, quickly ripping the paper off the first gift, one of the flat presents, wrapped in shiny blue paper covered in red and green polka-dots. He furrowed his brows as he pulled it out, and Sally felt her heart drop. What if he did not like it? "Is this a… a picture?"

She nodded then cleared her throat, recalling that Percy could not see. "Yes. Of… of snow. I took it during the first blizzard around here. Maybe one day you'll be able to see it."

Percy looked shocked. "Yeah… thanks, Mom."

Sally knew he didn't have that much hope that he would be able to see, but… that was the big surprise. She pushed the next gift over, the other flat one, delicately wrapped in a flaming orange paper. "This one is more for…sentimental reasons," stated Sally, watching as, once again, her son ripped apart the paper with vigor.

When he had opened it, she said, "It's the painting _she_ made—of the flower _she_ said _she_ would create for the sun."

She knew he didn't really need to see it, because Percy had probably memorized it, but Sally was not worried about that—she was worried that she had just opened up an enormous wound.

See, when _she_ was young, _she_ had quite the obsession with flowers. Pick them, press them, paint them. Percy would always help _her_, and together the two had made a large collection. After a while when new flowers were difficult to come by, _she_ had picked up her paintbrush and painted a flower, large and delicate, a mixture and flaming reds and orange hues. _Sunspot_, _she_ had called it. Sally didn't exactly know how _she_ knew what a sunspot was, but Sally did know where the idea had come from; _she_ probably looked up the sun and the internet to find a name.

The idea came from moon lace, the flower from Greek mythology. (Sally had to get them to know their origin somehow.) _She_ had said, almost like she was offended for Apollo, "Why does the moon have a flower? Why can't the sun have one, too?" Of course, _she_ had ended with, "I mean, both are awesome. Why treat one like it's better?"

Strange. But that was how _she_ began her painting for the sun.

"Sunspot?" Percy asked, swallowing hard. Sally watched as he traced _her_ barely legible scrawl of the name in the bottom left hand corner (_she_ mixed up her left and right).

"Yes," Sally replied, biting her bottom lip. Please be worth it, she prayed in her mind.

"Th—thanks. I really appreciate this. Seriously, you have no idea." Percy's hand shook slightly as he placed the painting next to him.

"And the last one," Sally whispered as she pushed the tall cylinder present toward her son; the dull sea-green wrapping paper crinkled as he pulled it toward him.

_Rip. Rip. Riiippp. Clank! _"What… is it?" Percy asked, rubbing his hands along the sides of the glass jar. "Well, maybe I should ask what it's _for_."

Sally sucked in a deep breath of air. "I was reading some site on the internet when I found out about some doctor nearby that has done surgeries on blind people," she said slowly, meaningfully. "This jar will be the savings jar. Every penny or dollar we can spare, we put in here."

Percy sat on his knees, still like a statue; then his ADHD got the better of him. Her son lunged forward, embracing Sally in a hug. She immediately hugged him back, reveling in the feeling of having her son _initiate_ a hug. That was a rare thing. Something that had not happened since… well, probably since the first time he left.

After not even a minute—a time too short for Sally Jackson—Percy pulled back. "I only got one thing for you," he mumbled, his face turning a faint pink color, "but I hope you love it." Shoving it forward hastily, he sat back on his knees.

Taking the brown paper box, the same one her son had asked the manager to give to him, Sally slowly undid the tape and slid out the object. It was a book, _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_, to be exact. Sally raised her eyebrows; she already had a copy of this book, and Percy knew it because it was her favorite book.

"I know you have a copy," Percy began hastily, as if he had read her mind, "but look at the first page."

Furrowing her brows, Sally did as she was told, and she nearly dropped the book in surprise.

There, written in dark, thick black ink, was Mark Twain's signature. The M almost looked like a W, the top of the T almost spread the length of the name, and there was a little squiggly underline underneath.

Somehow, someway, her son had managed to get a signed copy of _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_.

"But… how…?"

Percy held up a hand. "Let's just say, it took a lot of planning and bribing."

Her son always managed to surprise her.

Maybe she should get used to it.

**0o0o0o0o0o**

Sally was in her rocking chair again, listening to the _creak_,_ creak_ it made as she moved. Percy had left again. It had broken her heart, seeing that little note and delicate blue flower, but she should have seen it coming.

He was so upset, so… broken, _hopeless_, when she said she was planning the funeral for _her_. It had sent him over the edge all over again, and that crazed gleam she could see behind those wretched glasses sent shivers up her spine.

Perseus Jackson was so positive _she _was still alive, that, even though he had seen _her_—seen _her_ hurt and bloody in that alley that fateful day—he still believed _she_ was breathing, that _she_ was somewhere, hidden.

It was like he _knew_.

And, most of the time, it seemed he did know.

But not this time.

Not while he was "seeing" things he shouldn't see, talking to those things.

Not while he was believing what he shouldn't believe.

Not while he was so insane, it was becoming normal.

No, this time, Sally Jackson had to be right, because there was no way.

There was just no way.

Sally fingered the blue rose, reading over the note another time:

_I swear I will be back._

_Maybe not soon, but I will._

_Maybe not for my birthday, but I hope._

_Maybe I will come back better._

_Not as insane, where I talk to people who don't exist._

_But I doubt it, and I know you do, too._

_I've grown used to it, though, and, maybe, so will you._

_Maybe._

_Your son,_

_Percy Jackson._

_Maybe. _

With her son, there was always a maybe.

And there probably always will.

**Wow. Long. Is the tittle weird? I couldn't think of anything. Anyway, I've gotten a few questions, and my answer is, ****_all in due time_****. **

**Review, favorite, follow.**

**Peace and all that other stuff. **

**~XxxXGreek GeekXxxX**


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